


Canvas

by scionofthelongproject



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Knife Play, M/M, Mentions of Rape, delicate mustache kisses, sarcasm and snark everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scionofthelongproject/pseuds/scionofthelongproject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>noun can·vas \ˈkan-vəs\<br/>: a specially prepared piece of cloth on which a picture can be painted by an artist</p><p>---<br/>Written before MGSV was released, I might go back and make it canon compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thatkindoffangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/gifts).



> \- because she's got me addicted like Ocelot's probably got Huey addicted to pain meds

Of all the tastes he could enjoy right now, at this very moment, Kaz wasn’t very pleased that it was a dirty rag he tasted. Every time he breathed, even through his nose, he tasted metal, salt and a faint bit of oil, and he was almost positive that the metallic taste was blood.

He didn’t want to know whose blood.

He really didn’t want to know who Ocelot just killed, because the Russian had been drinking his damn scotch as Kaz had been slowly passing out from exhaustion on the single bed of their dingy room, and even though the sound of Ocelot humming some song and the scritch-scratch of the pen he was using to write in his journal with was irritating, the sound of Thai police shouting and banging on the door jolted through Miller’s brain, memories from not long ago that had drowned resurfacing from the bottom of the ocean and _he just can’t_ -

“Breathe.” With that simple command, Kaz exhaled slowly through his nose, letting out every bit of breath from his lungs. The bedsheets were scrunched at his feet, and Ocelot was seated next to him. “You panicked after I sent the Thai away.” Ocelot laughed in a huff. “Damn near cut one of my arteries open with your knife. Here.” And Kazuhira can breathe again, the air doesn’t taste like metal and oil and he can move his tongue. “Apologies, but you wouldn’t stop screaming about-“

 _Can’t hear her name right now, can’t do it_ \- Kaz grabbed Ocelot’s arm and squeezed. “I know, I get it.” He let go, savoring each of his breaths. “How long did it go on?” And he can’t bear to know how long, but he has to, because if they’re getting worse, if they’re getting longer, he needs to reevaluate his future plans of anything; he can’t lead an army if he’s freaking out over watery ghosts.

“Approximately two minutes.” Two minutes. The shortest one he’s had in a long while. From that news, Kaz smiled slightly and sighed in satisfaction. “Is there anything I can do?”

This isn’t what Miller was expecting when Snake had assigned both of them to this mission almost two minutes after Kaz had been given a clean bill of health, interrupting Ocelot ordering soldiers around like the Queen of Mother Base. Expectations had included lots of gun twirling, petty insults thrown at each other and an argument over who was actually Boss’ right-hand man, but kindness? Kindness was in the garbage along with other failed itinerary ideas, but Kaz, being Kaz, couldn’t turn down the offer.

“Yeah, could you hold me, thread your hand through my hair, and never tell anyone about this?” And, instead of any complaint or mocking, to Kazuhira’s surprise, Ocelot silently slid into the empty space of the bed and pulled him into his arms, tucking Kaz’s head underneath his chin and running his hands through his hair. Muttering his thanks, Kaz shut his eyes to sleep. They wouldn’t go away, though. Of course they wouldn’t. Images of splintered bone shards in the cell next to him, of gamey human muscle peeking out from her wounds. “There was a girl,” He started to say. Ocelot cocked his head in acknowledgement. “She was a Parisian spy for Cypher; apparently knew a lot about me and Snake...how close we were. She was pretty, really, now that I think about it, but back then-”

“There’s no room for attraction when you’re savoring the rest time before the next round.” _Well, that was unexpected._ Kazuhira looked up at Ocelot, who shrugged. “I may be good at it, but that doesn’t stop my own technique and tools being used against me.”

All walls were thrown up at the thought of Ocelot in the same cell. _I can’t think about that, no, don’t._ “So, they used us against each other, and the time we had not being cut up was time we spent hissing and spitting at each other. Well, until they broke her arm, then it was me reaching in to rub her ankle to comfort her.” He held out his intact arm, tracing his eyes down to the part where it had been broken on her. “The first two times, they broke it then braced it. The third time, it was a compound fracture from a particular guard who liked to take her in the night.” Fingers that were not his own traced up and down his forearm, a nice tickly feeling enveloping the area. “He liked to fuck with me the most. I think that’s why he did it. Wasn’t even to belittle her, it was to belittle me. Keep me up with her screams and whimpers.”  The sounds reverberated through the room, only Kaz was the one person who could hear them. A faint choking escaped his throat, and he tried to keep himself together.

“Is this helping?” Ocelot asked quietly. A reluctant nod was all Miller could give. “Keep going when you can.”

Kaz took a few deep breaths and continued. “They carried her off a few days later. Carried her back minus an arm a day after that. They checked on her frequently, but him the most. He’d poke and prod the cuts, try to get them infected. And they did, and she died. Her death actually woke me up. There wasn’t any whimpering or heavy breathing. Everything just went silent and that’s what woke me up, see her laying there dead. And he noticed, and I know he noticed, because every night after that, he’d shake and bang on the bars of the cell just to startle me.”

“And that’s what the trigger was.” Ocelot kept carding through Miller’s hair. He pressed a swift kiss into Kazuhira’s hairline and, before he could protest, Ocelot whispered, “Sleep now.”

* * *

 

And the night finally took him for keeping.

All was normal for the first couple of days back at Mother Base. Ocelot did his rounds as usual, and Miller saw him every often or so, about the same as before. But their meetings always swam with tension, and it wasn’t just a ‘hey, thanks for keeping my secret’ tension. There was always a look in the Russian’s eye that sent an odd thrill through Kaz’s spine. _Well, whatever._ Miller thought first. _Ocelot can do as he pleases._

Then came little touches here and there. A ghosting along his forearm, a lingering handshake, a caress down his hand as he passed paperwork to Kaz. At first, he thought nothing of it, and why would he? It had been proven time and again that Ocelot was, atom by atom, only interested in Big Boss. But after a week, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that Revolver Ocelot, cowboy wannabe, was _fucking flirting with him_. Under normal circumstances, Kazuhira would shrug and go “Yeah, I’m fucking worth it. Big surprise.” However, after the last ten years, normal was not an option. So Kaz just ignored it, ignored how Ocelot would seem to invade his space so effortlessly, ignored how tight his pants could get after watching him deliver a report on how the soldiers were doing in training and on the field, ignored how his hairline tingled where lips met it, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

And that’s how Kaz had ended up tied to a bunk by Ocelot's scarf.

The way he got there was quite a turnaround. Kaz had come in with every intention of confronting Ocelot and telling him to knock his shit off, but Ocelot had simply been writing more in that damn journal, and when he had looked up and saw who came in, the Russian wore the biggest smirk Miller had ever seen on him. The sight made Kaz’s mind stutter, and Ocelot went for the kill, standing and striding over to Kaz in nearly two seconds. “You feel it too, right, utsukushī suchīru?” The beating muscle inside Kaz’s chest was beating out a heavy track at Ocelot’s near-perfect tongue. _Fucking hell._ All he could do was swallow and nod because, well, there was no way out from this. Ocelot traced his fingers down his face, tracing scratches and scars, humming to himself before murmuring “Get on the bed.” Scrambling to obey the order, Kaz nearly fell, prosthetic almost giving out as he reached the bunk. Ocelot showed no emotion, pulling Kaz’s coat off in one fell pull and pulling off his own along with it with such deft hands.

“Am I allowed to say stop?” The words tumbled out of Miller’s mouth before he could silence them, and he watched the predatory look on Ocelot evolve from ‘interested’ to ‘locked on target’. Ocelot slowly undid his ascot and flattened it out completely, his intent loud and clear.

“Only if I’m allowed to test boundaries.”

And with that statement-that agreement-Kazuhira nodded, holding his wrist to the bar of the bunk. It was sturdy enough, and Ocelot tied the knot in a fashionable one that wouldn’t break on them. Kneeling between Kaz’s legs, his fingers traced down the other man’s arm; testing sinew and muscle, feeling scars and breaks, it was enough to drive both of them up the wall. “Are you usually this tedious?” Kaz faintly struggled against his binding but knew there was no point.

“Imagine yourself as a painting.”

The words themselves threw Kaz off. “A…painting?” What on earth was he talking about it?

“Some people find torture to be an interrogation method. Except you and I…and many others know this is not always the case. Many torturers, myself included, do it because it’s an art form to us. We paint with blood, we sculpt with scalpels, we write with knives, we erase with syringes. The number they did on you can tell me a lot of things, and that’s without the graphical details you gave me before.” Ocelot swept his hand over to trace down Kaz’s stump, and the man’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment over such a blasé attitude towards his lost limb. “First off, they were sloppy; they didn’t care whether or not you stayed healthy. Therefore, they were amateurs. Second, by knowing they’re amateurs, we must conclude that this is a new organization formed by friends who thought that they could handle business while chugging alcohol and shooting shit in an office building…yes, the markings of a Russian group; a lot of them keep springing up in Afghanistan. Third, and most importantly…” Ocelot traced up Kaz’s throat, traced knife scars and tissue that would always look shiny pink. “They didn’t know who you were. And by that, I mean they didn’t know how close you two were. You were simply a business partner, nothing more.”

Kazuhira was floored, felt like his entire captivity had just been laid out before him with one thorough analyzation. “Is that…” He laughed emptily. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes. It means she never talked.”

The Parisian. Everything flooded his system, mental compacity completely offline from the raw emotion that swept through him. He wasn’t aware he had been crying until the Russian dried his eyes with the corner of a blanket. “And now what?” Kaz stared at Ocelot like he had every answer. “Yay, my cellmate-should-be-enemy didn’t fucking rat me out? What, I find carthesis from this and move on? BECAUSE I HAVEN’T. AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME, OCELOT!” Kaz pulled against the ascot, giving his wrist rugburn. “NOT ANY OF YOUR DAMN PENCILS OR ERASERS, NOT YOUR PAINTSTROKES OR YOUR FUCKING BRUSHES! THIS PAIN IS WITH ME, AND IT’LL BE MINE!”

Any energy Kaz had beforehand was gone. He slunk back, panting slightly with his head resting against his wrist. Hair was plastered to his skin, and any composure he had was in the wind. Wordlessly, Ocelot reached over and untied his comrade, taking the ascot and retying it around his neck. Kaz felt the faint tickle of a mustache against his brow, then heard a door close.

* * *

 

Boss was first to see the difference. Miller had started making snide comments again, started being jovial again. He paid attention to who he interacted with: Quiet was treated with nothing but a brisk cordial attitude ( _a goddamn miracle,_ Snake thought); Skullface was mostly dismissed as soon as he talked; ambassadors were treated with the rare Japanese hospitality and charm that only Kazuhira Miller could possibly possess. The one difference was between Kaz and Ocelot: whenever one would talk, the other would make some scathing remark that seemed to spark a smirking match between the two, as if they were determined to break one another.

It wasn’t as if Snake was in a hurry to find out. No, the longer it took, the better the chance that something might fix itself.

_Might._

* * *

 

 _Oh, fuck._ Kaz tilted his head back and sucked in a breath. _I should’ve done this a long time ago._ His head fell forward again, his eyes focusing on Ocelot’s bobbing mouth, slowly watching Ocelot’s eyes look up at his. He slowly grinned and muttered, “I knew you liked torture, but I didn’t know you _liked_ liiii- _ohhh._ ”  
He felt the razor blade slowly slide down his chest, barely missing his left nipple. “Fuck, that was close.”

Ocelot came off his dick with an audible pop and gave Kaz his own smile. “And here I thought you hated that pain.” He flipped the scalpel, dragging the smooth edge over Kaz’ nipple, coaxing a small whine out of the man. “What changed?” A twirl of the scalpel and the point was on Kaz’ jugular. “What broke inside of you?” Tracing it down, he made a small cut on the abdomen.

Kaz hissed. “What do you want to hear? That you turned some big switch on or something? Maybe this is me finding my carthesis. Now shut up and blow me.” His answer came in form of the scalpel digging into his thigh, barely enough to break skin. Another hiss escaped him as Ocelot tongued at his cock, trailing his tongue lazily along a particular vein. “Damn you, Ocelot.”

“Adamska,” Ocelot whispered against the head, leaving light kisses around the rim.

“Then damn you, Adamska,” Kaz cheekily murmured, giving a loud moan as Ocelot ( _Adamska,_ he repeated over in his head) swallowed him whole. “F-fucking hell…” He threaded his hand through Ocelot’s hair, gripping somewhat loosely. He’d never experienced this kind of heat, this kind of fire licking at his nerves deliciously, and so maybe Adamska was to blame for that. “O-okay, maybe I want you to repaint me!”

His words came out jumbled but Ocelot knew exactly what Kazuhira was asking for, and a wicked grin set itself upon his face. He pulled off again, crawling up Kaz’s slightly bleeding chest, and caressed his cheek with the blade. “What was that I heard you ask?” He sliced horizontally and Kaz bit his lip to stifle a whimper. “Repaint you?” Suddenly, he stabbed the scalpel into his shoulder. A scream was wrenched from Kaz’s lungs, and much to Ocelot’s shock, his stomach became striped with white lines. Drunk on satisfaction, Adamska asked “How long should I take?”

Kaz reopened his eyes and stared him square in the face.

“As long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> utsukushī suchīru - beautiful steel
> 
> THERE'S A FUCKING PUN IN HERE IF YOU READ IT ALOUD HOW DID I NOT CATCH THAT UNTIL NOW  
> also yay whoo first smut fic finished


End file.
